


I'm Nothing Like Her

by ImNotTwistedImSpiral



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: 2012, April - Freeform, Donnie - Freeform, Hate, Karai - Freeform, Leo - Freeform, Michelangelo - Freeform, Raph - Freeform, Raphael - Freeform, Self Loathing, TMNT, TMNT 2012, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - Freeform, cartoon, don - Freeform, donatello - Freeform, inner thoughts, leonardo - Freeform, mikey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8455918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNotTwistedImSpiral/pseuds/ImNotTwistedImSpiral
Summary: Why does Karia hate April so much she wants her dead?One-shot/drabble.
This fic is kinda old.  It takes place around season one or two.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy!

She is just like me. I knew it to be true the first moment she had exposed the cold truth that she had lost her mother, but I had a job to do. However, all of it waited until I did a bit of digging, searching for the right information to quench my dying need for comfort and answers. It soothed me to think that she had lost her mother just like I. It was a poor excuse for the unjustly detective work I had found myself in when I illegally searched through files and pages of documents and reports until I found the one that I wanted.

Denise O’Neil, mother, wife, school teacher, died at the hands of a drunk driver on her way home from work when little April was only four. I wonder how the evening had been planned in Denise’s mind as she walked down the sidewalk towards her home. She certainly didn’t expect to be hit with the grill of a pick-up truck. The driver was hauled to prison as his Ford was towed to the junkyard to be demolished since it was totaled after crashing into the elementary school after running Mrs. O’Neil over.

I couldn’t help but feel a little bitter as I read the report. Funny, I thought it would make me feel better. I kept thinking that April, at least, saw her mother, spoke to her, embraced her, knew her. She got to know and love the woman that birthed her while mine died at the hands of the wretched Hamato Yoshi, the rat father and martial arts master of those naïve turtles. He selfishly rid me of the one person I needed most in the world besides my father.

How would my life be different if my dear mother had lived? Would my father ever had been burned in the fire that killed my mother by trying to save me? Would my father be as cold and ruthless as he is with my mother’s soothing hand here to lend a type of gentleness that only a woman, a mother, could? Would I be as cold and ruthless? Would I be living in Japan instead of New York hunting the ingrate, Splinter? Would I be dating, driving my father crazy by bringing home boys he doesn’t like? Would I be normal if my mother were here to pick up the lost pieces of my childhood and glue them back together with adhesive that is only present in a mother‘s love? I think so.

I often wonder what she would be like is she had survived. I’d like to think I would look just like her. She’d be understanding and reasonable but have a strong, firm hand when I do wrong. She would be sweet and loyal, but unmoving in a final decision against orders or punishments. Would she sing? Would she like to read? I do; Father doesn’t. I like to think I got those characteristic from her. Would she be profound, saying metaphors and cryptic messages I would not understand until I grew older and my vocabulary became a bit more complex?

…Maybe she’d even help me get ready for my prom.

It’s hard to believe that I, Oroku Karia, thinks about dressing up in a white frilly, strapless gown with white gloves after my mother does my make-up, waiting anxiously afterwards for a boy to knock on the front door to escort me to a cliché, overrated dance and panicking when he’s two minutes late, swearing he isn’t coming until my mother places a gentle hand on my shoulder and speaks comforting words that he’ll come and how beautiful I look. My father would tell me that I look like a princess as he goes to open the door for my date, me counting his steps apprehensively. A boy, standing in the doorway, holding a flower, telling me I look pretty before my father tells him what time to be home after giving the “Dad Speech,” scaring the poor boy only a father knew how. Both my parents kissing me off and I leave, heading towards the Limo where all my friends were seated, awaiting for the greatest night of my life.

Yes, I think about it. I think of all sorts of things. Maybe I’d be different if Mother had been in my life. Maybe I’d be more feminine having a female role model since Father isn’t exactly in touch with his feminine side. Of course, I will never know because my father’s rival took that part away from me. He viciously ripped that life I’ve only dreamt about right out of my hands and broke it beyond repair after dangling it just out my reach. The man whom will die at my feet sooner rather than later.

And April is friends with the low-life rodent. She’s taught by a great ninjitsu master, has friends, brothers she had said once. She is able to have boyfriends. She is wanted by the Kraang because she’s special, and she knew her mother and her father. She was normal before she met the turtles. I was never normal. She has always been loved while I don’t even think my own father loves me sometimes. And from what I have observed, that smart turtle has even developed a crush on the redhead as if he’d have a shot with April.

I’m not stating I want to be like April O’Neil, to be her, to have her friends, her family, her life. I’m simply saying I want the same opportunity she has been given. I know she isn’t perfect, no one is, and I know people have certain aspects about them that breeds jealousy from others, something they are better at than anyone else.

My forte over April is my martial arts. She lacks years of training I have had. She might be more clever; however, I believe I am more intelligent, more sophisticated, mature than she is. She lacks a gentle grace, a certain je ne sais quoi that I possess. So no. I don’t want to be April O’Neil, just her normality, the opportunity she had to have friends, family, a mother.

Maybe I’m envious. I’m woman enough to admit that, even if only to myself. That could be the reason why I want to destroy her so much, to rid myself of the reminder that we’re the same in the ways I wish we weren’t but so different in ways I wish we were the same. I suppose you could say that I don’t hate April O’Neil, I hate myself.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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